


Starry Eyes

by Kabella



Series: First Days [1]
Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)
Genre: Bands, Fights, London, M/M, Terrorcest - Freeform, Youth, aspirations, bigger plans, bloody nose, clubs, curious, unique autograph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24316318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabella/pseuds/Kabella
Summary: Tommy can't wait to check this band out finally. Holy shit! That's one hell of a unique show to say the least, the young drummer concludes..The bass player isn't phased at all. It's normal to him, but he doesn't want to do normal anymore.
Relationships: Tommy Lee/Nikki Sixx
Series: First Days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819792
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Starry Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, I started writing angsty stuff again, when I said that I'd take a break. 
> 
> Here's a fluffy one shot in the meantime.

**Starry Eyes**

The 17 year old kid and his friend made it into the club with no problem. Tommy’s height sometimes has it’s advantages; making him appear older than he actually is. Hell, he’s going to be 18 in about a month or so anyway.

“Man, I don’t know about you, but I get a little nervous about sneaking around like this,” Tommy’s friend comments.

“It’s not that hard. I’ve done it enough times. The worst that happens is the bouncer grabs you by your collar and tosses you aside with a snarl. Who the fuck cares. I’m just glad that didn’t happen tonight. I’ve been wanting to see this fucking band,” Tommy replies.

“Me too. Heard they’re on their way up. Love this glam shit,” the friend says.

“Yeah, me too. Think this shirt fits me OK? Pinched it from my sister’s closet. She’s fucking onto me now, so I gotta be on the sly.”

“Why? What does she care what you wear?”

“Dude, cuz she’s got no fucking cool-ass clothes left. Took her awhile to figure out that I was the one taking them. She blamed my mom for losing them in the laundry.”

“You thinking of doing something new? Maybe glam?”

“Shit, I don’t know. My band has been gaining some traction, but the band wants to go in a direction that I don’t. Not sure what I’m going to do. Kinda sucks when you finally get the band sounding good enough to figuratively move out of your parent’s basement, and out and about to be heard; only to have it all crumble because people can’t get along. Starting over sucks.”

“I know what you mean, dude. My band is still at the fledgling stage. Sucks. I wanna know what it takes to get to where this band is.”

“Well, for one, you gotta be good,” Tommy laughs, backhanding his friend in the chest.

“Fuck you, man. Come on, you even said that we had a spark.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t lighting any wood. Now London, that lights my wood. They’re fucking good, man. Can’t wait for this fucking show to start. Opening act is gonna suck. I know it. I hope they keep their set list short.”

“You’d shit a brick, dude, if your band got to open for London.”

“Yeah, and everyone here would be hoping that we keep our fucking set list short.”

“Hey Tom, wanna come back to my place after the show. You know, maybe raid my parents’ liquor cabinet again?” the friend asks.

Tommy knows what he’s driving at. About 2 weeks ago, they locked lips at a party. They were both drunk. There may have been a little feeling of each other up too. The drummer knows that he’s been curious about these things, but this one didn’t feel right. Yeah, his friend looks nice and all, but Tommy is pretty sure that what happened with him needs to stay in the past. 

However, he’s uncertain if it’s just a ‘no’ to the partner or a ‘no’ to the entire concept of experimentation with a guy. It’s really about whether a feeling comes to him if he sees or talks to someone. If not, then it’s probably not worth exploring. Tommy has only felt the urge when flipping through rock n’ roll magazines. Maybe it’s the lure of it all, but he has yet to actually interact with a guy, face to face, who gets him cranking. Girls seem to do him just fine. 

However, there is another reason that Tommy wants to see London play. Besides the band poster on his wall, he caught a glimpse of the bassist coming out of a club a few weeks ago. There was something about his look; maybe the way he was dressed, maybe his facial structure, maybe it’s just that this guy is set to make it big. Whatever it was, young Tommy was drawn in. 

“I don’t know, man. I’ll let you know how I feel after the show. I got something going on pretty early with my band. Uh, practice. We got a gig tomorrow night.”

“Oh. It’s OK. And don’t think that I meant anything by it. You know. It was just to hang out and chil.”

“I know, bro. Wasn’t thinking anything about it. Just want this damn show to start already.”

\-------------------------------

The opening band has finished their 6 song set. 6 songs too many for Tommy’s taste.

“Shit, Tom. I can’t believe that we’re actually here. It’s kind of surreal to me.”

“Fuck man, you gotta get out more. Or get your band to a better level. It’s not that big of a deal. I play these clubs with my band. Well, not here, and not with London, but it’s not exactly a new concept to me,” Tommy says, as he pulls a cigarette out from his pack to light up.

“We played a couple amateur night gigs. Got some applause and shit,” Tommy’s friend retorts.

“Yeah, you and the 300 other cover bands out there. You ain’t going nowhere without originals. Top 40 is just a stepping stone.”

The friend shrugs, just as the band members from London come out to tune their instruments.

Tommy swallows hard, as he quickly scans the 5 member band for his piece of eye candy. There he is, in a skin tight one piece jumpsuit, cut low in the front to expose a hairless, yet sturdy chest. Oh yeah, this guy can light Tommy’s wood. He glances at the other 4, studying each one for a moment, to see if he’s maybe starstruck with the whole band, or if it’s just this bass player, named Nikki. While no one’s a dog, and they’re pretty glam and cool and shit, Tommy realizes it’s just the bass player that’s juicing him up.

“Bro?” Tommy’s friend says, nudging him.

“Huh?” Tommy says, looking back at his friend.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Uh, what?”

“Nevermind man. Just excited to hear this band play.”

“Yeah, me too.”

\---------------------------

London is 4 songs into their set. Tommy has barely taken his eyes off of the bass player. His friend has taken notice, feeling a slight let down that Tommy is eyeballing someone else. 

Shit. Tommy cringes. The bassist hit a wrong chord. Doesn’t look like much anyone else noticed, but Tommy heard it. Being in his own band, he picks up on stuff like that; their own bass player, not exactly up to snuff either. The other who seems to have noticed is the ego-driven singer who turned and glared hard at the bassist; who threw back a sly smile with the middle finger on his left hand standing tall for a few moments.

After another 3 songs and another ill-timed chord on the bass, the singer snapped and suddenly grabbed the neck of the bass, and threw a left hook straight into the bassist's face. The axeman retaliates by throwing an equally powerful punch right back at the singer; who reacts only with an air kick of his foot towards the grinning bassist. Then the next song begins just as planned, as if the fight was part of the act. Tommy would have been apt to believe that if it wasn’t for the trickle of blood coming out the bass player's nose, and the newly aggressive posturing of the singer; as well as some head shaking from 2 of the other band members.

“You fucking see that, Tom? Holy shit!”

“That was fucking rad, man,” Tommy smirks, digging the cavalier attitude of the bass player; seemingly unfazed by the singer’s hissy fit. Whereas the singer seems highly perturbed and bothered by the bassist’s smart ass reaction.

The band plays another 4 songs, and immediately upon finishing the final one, the singer throws down his microphone and storms off. The others set down their instruments, London’s drummer and guitarist coming over to the bass player to check out his bloody nose. As the drummer is touching it, the blood starts dripping out again, obviously the weak clot not holding strong.

Tommy finds himself gawking as he moves forward towards the stage, mesmerized by this makeshift triage station, and the bickering.

“You want an autograph or something, kid?” the guitarist barks towards Tommy. “Little busy here. Ain’t happening for you tonight.”

Tommy snaps out of it, a mere 5 or 6 feet away from the band members. “Uh no. Sorry. I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see if you’re alright.”

“Nikki, you actually got a fan that gives a shit about you,” the drummer sneers.

Nikki looks at the kid, clearing his hair away from his eyes and flashes a wide shit-eating grin.

Tommy is officially star struck. Those eyes, up close and personal. His wood is lit as fuck right about now.

“Want my autograph, kid?” Nikki asks.

Tommy nods, unable to speak anything sensible.

Nikki squats down, takes hold of the 17 year old’s arm and wipes his bloody nose on it from elbow to wrist. “Don’t wash it off. Shit might be worth something someday.”

“Heh, didn’t know that signing in blood was actually a thing,” is all Tommy can choke out.

“Then you don’t me,” Nikki says, getting back to his feet, the other 2 bandmembers walking away to start breaking down.

Before Nikki also turns away, Tommy asks, “Where you playing next?”

“Gazzarri’s I think,” Nikki says, feeling ever so slightly guilty now for using the kid’s arm as a rag.

“That’s 21 and older I think, isn’t it?”

“Dunno. Looking to come?”

“Yeah. I’d like to. I like your sound,” Tommy says, looking a little defeated.

“What’s the trouble then?”

Tommy is embarrassed to mention that he’s far too young to get in. Sneaking in as an 18 year old is one thing. 21, he’s not sure he can swing that. “Uh, well, I don’t have proper ID.”

“Hell, neither do I at this junction. Tell ‘em you know me. What’s your name?”

“Tommy.”

“Troubled Tommy. I’ll remember,” Nikki says, seeing a flicker in the kid’s eyes.

“Uh, thanks. I’ll be there.”

“I would make it a point. Not sure how long I’m going to be with London.”

“But, you guys are good. You’re kind of a star in my eyes.”

“Got bigger plans, kid. And it might be a novel idea to put together a new band where the singer doesn’t want to set me on fire.”

“Heh, yeah, that was kind of fucked, man. I mean my band and I argue a lot, but--”

“He’s an asshole. But, fuck him,” Nikki says, cutting him off. “You play?”

“Yeah, I play drums in a band called--”

“Hey, Nikki?” the guitarist says, tapping him on the shoulder.

“What?” the bassist asks, annoyed, assuming they want him to start pitching in with the break-down.

“Uh, I think Nigel might walk away. He’s threatening all kinds of shit. Wants you gone. I told him to go fuck himself.”

“Shit. Where is the motherfucker?” Nikki says, standing up. He takes a few steps away, then turns back towards Tommy. “Come and find me sometime, drummer,” Nikki says, with a crooked grin before walking off.

Tommy stands there smiling, looking at his blood-smeared arm, his brain firing in every direction.

“Dude! Tommy!”

Tommy finally snaps to it, hearing his friend’s pleas for his attention.

“What are you gonna run away and join the band or something?” the friend jokes, feeling burned as he watched his friend interact with the handsome bass player.

“Nah, I think I got bigger plans. Come on, take me home. Gotta practice tomorrow,” Tommy requests, unable to stop smiling.


End file.
